Page 10

10

DANTE

S he’s gone.

No note. No trace. No damn warning . Just... gone.

I wake up half expecting to hear her voice, to find her standing at the window, backlit by sunrise and looking like temptation wrapped in danger.

But the loft’s quiet. Cold.

And the mug she drank from last night is still sitting on the edge of the table—half-full, faint lip print on the rim. That’s all she left behind. A ghost in ceramic.

I stare at the spot where she sat like it might explain something. It doesn’t. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course she ran. Of course she left before I could ask the questions that matter. Before I could do anything.

The worst part is I let her.

Something in me knew she’d go. Knew she’d vanish before the sun hit her skin. And I didn’t stop her. Because I can’t make myself hold on to her. Not when she’s this wild. This hunted. This dangerous. And yet I want to .

Goddamn it.

I scrub a hand down my face, but the scent of her still lingers—rain, shadow, something old and wrong and so goddamn beautiful it makes my gut twist.

I should let it go. I should .

But a couple hours later, I’m called in.

PEACE HQ. Sector Four.

They don’t tell me why over the line, just that it’s “urgent” and “sensitive.”

Which means it’s either a body or a breach. Or worse—something to do with her .

By the time I walk into the briefing room, I already feel the weight of it.

Clara’s there, tight-lipped and pale under her usual swagger, and Tamsin’s standing by the wall with her arms crossed, brows drawn low. They’re not looking at each other.

Never a good sign.

The room smells like tension and recycled air. No one’s laughing. No one’s joking. The rogue is sitting at the table.Cuffed. Shackled. Wards humming under his chair.

He looks worse than when I dropped him off—eyes sunken, lips cracked, like whatever he tapped into to juice himself up is eating him from the inside out.

“You brought him in three nights ago,” Tamsin says, nodding at the file. “You said he was alone when you found him.”

“I did.”

Clara leans forward. “Funny. Because he’s saying otherwise.”

The rogue lifts his head slowly. His eyes are wrong. Glossy. Too black. Like there’s something still moving behind them that hasn’t settled.

“She was there,” he rasps. “The girl. With the eyes.”

My stomach knots.

Clara eyes me. “Violet, he said. Said she threw him through a dumpster like he weighed nothing.”

I force a casual shrug. “Sounds like he was hallucinating.”

“Does it?” Clara raises an eyebrow. “Because we pulled residue from the alley. Shadow magic. Old fae signature.”

Tamsin cuts in. “That kind of power doesn’t just show up without someone noticing. You sure there wasn’t anyone else there?”

I meet her eyes and hold them. I know she knows I’m not saying everything, especially since just the other day I had questions about a violet-eyed fae.

But yet, I lie.

“No.”

Clara doesn’t blink. “You’re sure.”

“Positive. I was alone. Caught him trying to run. Must’ve cracked his skull harder than I thought.”

They don’t believe me. But they can’t prove I’m lying. Not yet.

Tamsin looks away first. “We’re flagging the energy signature. If it shows up again, we’ll know.”

Fuck.

The moment I leave the building, I duck into an alley and brace my hands against the brick, breathing hard.

I just lied to PEACE for a woman I barely know. A woman who might be cursed. Marked. Claimed by something that shouldn’t even be walking this plane.

What the hell am I doing?

I walk for blocks, trying to shake the feeling. I don’t go home. I can’t sit still. Instead, I end up at the edge of the river, watching the sun burn low behind the skyline. And all I can think about is her.

Nightshade.

She doesn’t belong to the club, or the streets, or the shadows. She belongs to something else . Something ancient and wrong and far too deep for me to swim in. And yet… she feels right . That’s the part that’s driving me insane. Because when we brushed hands the other night, I know it did something to her. She couldn’t hide it. But it seemed to wake something in me as well.

When our fingers brushed, it wasn’t just a flicker—it was a surge . Something inside me opened . Something that’s been dormant my whole life—maybe longer.

My wolf knows her. My blood recognizes hers.

It wasn’t lust. Wasn’t just attraction.

It was bonding .

No. Calling .

Like two puzzle pieces snapping into place in the dark.

I flex my hands, and for a split second, my skin glows faint—lines of light tracing over my knuckles, down my forearms. Not tattoos. Not magic I know. Old magic. Guardian magic.

I close my fists until it stops. What the fuck is happening to me?